


Known To Be True

by bliteorum



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, PWP, uuuuuh i don't really know how these work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:44:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4817288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bliteorum/pseuds/bliteorum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening at Camp Dragonhead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Known To Be True

Some things all men and women know to be true. Heretics lay with dragons, eating fish is the surest cure for any ailment, lavender under the pillow sends sweet dreams to the sleeper; basic truths universally acknowledged.

The soldiers of Camp Dragonhead knew many things to be true, and gossiped accordingly; Livrienne and Beaudefoin spent altogether too long ‘tallying supply stores,’ Yloise had a sweetheart in the Holy See who wrote her longwinded letters at least once a moon, Burchard had once asked a chaplain to cure him of a mysterious rash in an unmentionable location and got given a month of penance for it. It was _known_  to the soldiers of Camp Dragonhead that Lord Haurchefant had a particular fondness for adventurers, and it was known that he was fond of one in particular— for the moment, anyway. So when she road through the south gate of Camp Dragonhead near to sunset, the two sentries on duty knew better than to halt her.

They _did,_ however, exchange pointed glances around the brazier.

“We putting money on this?” one said, making an effort not to look over her shoulder as the adventurer dismounted at the small stable by the gate.

“20 gil says we don’t see either of them for the evening meal,” her partner replied, tucking his hands under his arms.

“Done. _I’ll_ bet we see them both at dinner, but neither till twelfth bell tomorrow.”

“Hmph.”

———

To the very great disappointment of one of the sentries, both Lord Haurchefant and his guest were present for the evening meal. Granted, the lord excused himself early and the adventurer followed not long after, but the terms of the bet had been clear; a loss was a loss. 

Lord Haurchefant, however, was not thinking of his sentries (or their bets, which he was blissfully unaware of) when he closed the door to his private rooms. He was not thinking about guard rotations, or the new ballista engineer he needed to request from the Holy See, or the payment he needed to send the stonemasons shoring up the west wall. His mind was entirely, completely occupied with the woman who had ridden in that evening, and how he had missed her during her absence. As soon as the door closed behind them, he bent to kiss her, and she responded enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

“I’m glad you’ve returned,” he said, drawing back a little. “But could you not have sent word...?”

She shrugged; honestly, it hadn’t occurred to her. She wasn’t used to people waiting on her arrival— let alone looking forward to it.

“I don’t mean to chide,” he said, and straightened up, moving aside to begin unbuckling his mail. “It’s only that I missed you, and would that I had prepared better for your return.”

She followed suit and shrugged out of her heavy coat, hanging it on the back of his desk chair. “Next time, if I can, I will. Send word, I mean.”

It was... not a bad thing, to be expected. She smiled a little to herself, watching him settle his mail on its stand while she unlaced her boots. _No, not bad to know that I’m wanted and missed._ In the corner of the room, he had shucked his mail leggings and started on the lengthy process of unstrapping his own boots, and, as she was nearly finished undressing, she went to help.

It was strangely intimate, helping him unhook his armor, but intimate in a different way from kissing. She turned it over in her mind, the difference sort of closeness that came with holding his boot as he stepped out of it, the sort vulnerability of seeing him shed his armor. She didn’t have the words for it, but it made her feel... something.  _Trusted, maybe,_ she thought, working at the straps near his knee. _It feels like..._ _he trusts me enough to let me make him vulnerable. Or something._

Unencumbered by armor at last, he bent to kiss her again, slower this time. When he broke the kiss, she expected him to draw her toward the bed in corner, as they had done during her previous visits, and was surprised when instead he drew her toward the fireplace and the worn couch. He settled himself on it, reclining, and pulled her to him so she was sitting on his lap. She was fairly certain that now he would start the kissing in earnest, but was surprised when instead he cupped her face and ran a thumb over her cheek. She leaned her head into his hand, not entirely sure she enjoyed being scrutinized like this, but enjoying the contact nonetheless. 

“You are lovely,” he told her, simply, as though it was something simply known to be true. She felt herself color, and turned her face into his hand, saying nothing, but not moving away.

_Now_ he pulled her face to his and kissed her, slowly, deeply, one hand moving to her back while the other still cupped her cheek. She kissed back, holding his face between her small hands, focusing all her attention on his lips, his mouth, and felt him move his thigh up to rest between her legs. She smirked a little— _so he wasn't planning on spending the entire evening just kissing, hm?_ — and leaned her weight back against his leg. Comfortable now, she tugged at his shirt, and when it refused to yield, slipped a hand underneath. He stifled a yelp into her mouth as her cold hand brushed his skin, and she laughed a little to feel him squirm away. She stroked at his side, letting her hand wander upwards under the cloth of his shirt, tracing lazy patterns on his skin. He was not to be outdone, however, and the hand kneading at her back wandered lower until with one smooth tug he had pulled down both her leggings and her underthings.

_How many women— or men— did he practice that neat trick on?_ she wondered, and it stirred no little jealousy to imagine the lovers who had undoubtedly come before her; who else had seen his rooms like this, lit by firelight and nothing else? How many other faces had he held tenderly and complimented sweetly? Before her jealousy could burn any hotter, she was distracted by his hand on her ass, squeezing, and she grinned against his mouth.  _Whatever lovers he’s taken before, tonight it’s me, and that’s what matters._

She reached down, gingerly, and ran her hand over the front of his trousers. He shuddered against her, and she pressed more kisses to the corner of his mouth, to his jaw, to the base of his ear (another appreciative shudder, she liked that) as her hand worked, tugging at his pants. He fumbled a hand between them, trying to help, and only succeeding in getting the lacing tangled tighter. She laughed a little, into his neck, and batted his hand away. Slower now, she tugged the laces loose, and slipped her hand down beneath his underthings.

_Gods_. She could hardly get her hand around him. The thought of him inside of her was daunting and yet imagining him pushing into her— filling her— she felt herself getting wet. She stroked him, gently at first, and noted his indrawn breath and how his sword-calloused hand tightened on her waist. She continued stroking, alternating between quick and slow, firm and gentle, and pausing every now and then to give his cock a gentle squeeze. He buried his face in her neck, nose pressed into the crook of her shoulder, all the while making noises that drove her wild; little breathy moans, quickly indrawn breaths, small sighs, his open mouth warm against her skin.

Finally, he pushed her hand away. “If you don’t stop now, I’ll—”

“Good,” she said, well-pleased with herself, but sat back to let him catch his breath, untangling herself from his lap and finally divesting herself of the leggings bunched around her ankles.

He tugged off his shirt, tossing it aside, and shifted himself from the couch to the floor, pulling her down in front of him. She let his hands guide her down, gently easing her back until she was flat on the floor before the fireplace, one of his knees pressed between her thighs as he supported himself above her. She tugged at his trousers, trying to pull them fully down, trying to touch more of him, and he leaned down to cover her mouth with his. It was his turn to bat her hands away as his mouth nipped at her lips, her neck, her ear, and it was her turn to shudder against him as his teeth tugged at her earlobe. One of his hands made its way to her breast, cupping her through her shirt (why _was_ she still wearing a shirt?) before slipping up underneath to run his thumb over her raised nipple. She sighed and arched into his hand, and he chuckled into her neck, pinching her nipple between his fingers to hear her sigh turn into a groan. She wound her hands in his hair, pulling at it, urging him on, and felt his hand drift lazily down from her breast to her stomach to her mound, long fingers slipping easily between her folds. She rutted against him, unable to stop herself, and he stroked her slit slowly, spreading her, circling her bud, teasing her opening, making her jam her hips upward to meet his hand. He rested a finger just at her opening, paused, and turned his attention back to her neck and ear. She groaned again, knowing just what he wanted from her, and hitched her hips forward to fuck herself on his finger. She felt him smile into her neck as she ground herself against his hand, desperate for stimulation, and she was unable to stop herself from letting out little cries of pleasure. He offered her another finger, sliding into her slick cunt easily, and she loosened her grip on his hair to dig furrows into his back instead, muffling her cries in his shoulder. And then his fingers curled inside her once— twice— three times—

—and she came, clenched around his clever fingers, her nails biting into his back as she tried (and failed) to stifle a scream.

He sat back, withdrawing his hand and grinning down at her, before slowly, deliberately bringing his hand to his mouth and licking his fingers clean. The sight was unfair, and although she had just climaxed, she could already feel her cunt getting slick again just watching him pump his fingers into his mouth.

_Fair’s fair_ , she thought, and surged upwards to catch him off-guard, pressing him back against the edge of the couch to straddle his thighs, kissing him fiercely. She couldn’t taste herself on his lips, but the thought of his fingers slipping into his mouth covered in her juices was enough to make her grind her cunt against his leg. She bit at his lower lip, grazed his jaw, and went directly to the soft place under his ear— that got his attention. His hands slid underneath her shirt to cup her breasts (too small to be a proper handful for him), and he started a counterattack by teasing her nipples with soft strokes and firm pinches. She shuddered, unable to resist his touch, but was not deterred from licking, sucking, nibbling, and biting at his lobe. It was him shuddering now, his strokes on her breasts faltering and she pressed on, single-mindedly working at the one weak spot she’d discovered, until finally, breathlessly, he hitched her forward so he could finally slide his pants down.

Pants slid down to his thighs, he leaned back, settling against the couch, chest bare except for the marks dotting his shoulder— _my marks,_ she thought smugly. _He’ll have those for days._ She slid herself into his lap, bringing them as close together as she could manage, so close that her mound pressed against again his cock. He looked at her, for once not craning down, and smiled, and her stomach turned in on itself. _What gives him the right to be so— so— !_ she thought, indignant, but his hands were on her hips and his teeth were nipping at her lip, and thinking was suddenly incredibly unimportant.

She broke the kiss and levered herself up with one hand using the edge of the couch, reaching down to guide him into position, aligning them just so, and slid herself down onto his cock. _Gods, it’s been too long,_ she thought, feeling him filling her completely. Even with his fingers to prepare her, she was still too tight to be comfortable, and she winced.

Immediately, he withdrew his hands from her hips. “Does it hurt?” he asked, obviously concerned.

“No,” she said firmly, though it did, and pushed against him again, trying to take more. “If I can just— adjust myself—”

“I don't want to see you in pain,” he said, and rested his hands under her thighs, preventing her from sinking herself onto him any further, and pulling her up off his cock into another kiss instead. His mouth met hers, and his fingers gripped her thighs tightly; a gentle (but effective) reminder that he wouldn’t let her continue until she could do so without hurting herself. She grunted into his mouth, not best pleased, but mollified by his kisses, and the fact that he was still buried in her... just not as deeply as she'd have liked. She brushed her hands along his chest and ribs, over his back and shoulders, enjoying the feeling of his bare skin under her hands, smooth but for a few raised scars. She tweaked one of his nipples— just desserts after what he did earlier— and he groaned, obviously pleased. Hands occupied, he used his mouth to distract her, though less gently than before. He bit at her lower lip, catching it between his teeth, and left little nipping marks down her neck. Gradually, his grip at her thighs was no longer so firm, and the pressure at her entrance was no longer so tight, so she picked up where she’d left off; slowly sliding herself down onto his cock, inch by inch, until he was buried in her completely.

It still hurt, a bit, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She wanted him inside of her, wanted to hear him crying out, wanted to feel him pushing into her. That was worth a few aches.

She rested her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself off of him in one smooth motion, noting with pleasure how flushed his face and ears were, and slammed her hips home again. He cried out, hands finding their way back to her waist, and bucked his hips up to meet her next thrust. They found a rhythm like that; her hands on his shoulders, his hands at her waist, him pushing into her as she ground herself down against him. He buried his face in her hair, unable (or unwilling) to stop himself from grunting in her ear, making low, undignified noises of pleasure, and the sound him losing command of himself was delightful. Keeping one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, she used the other to tug at his nipple again, pinching it, rolling it between her deft little fingers. The result was gratifying— he thrust his hips upward so strongly that she nearly lost her balance, and he managed to hit the place inside of her that made her choke back a scream.

Sooner than she would have liked, his thrusts grew erratic and his grunts turned to pants, and at last he gripped her waist hard enough to bruise and pulled her flush against him as he thrust upward one last time to finish inside of her with a low moan into her hair.

For a moment they sat like that, together; her spread over his lap as his come leaked slowly out, him softening inside of her. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close while she rested her head against his chest and smiled.

There was still one thing, though. She reached a hand down, intending to finish herself off; for all the friction and frantic thrusting, she hadn’t quite managed a second orgasm.

He caught her hand before she worked it down between them, and murmured, “Are you not satisfied?”

She grinned at him, and shook her head.

“Well,” he said, smiling back, “we can’t have that, now can we?”

He guided her up and onto the couch, and nudged her legs apart before kneeling between them. A problem was immediately apparent: even with a couch meant for elezen, he was too tall for this to be comfortable. Rather than kneeling, he was forced to swing his legs to the side while leaning forward, steadying himself by holding onto the couch. She draped an arm over the couchback and hooked her legs over his shoulders, while he wound his arm around one of her legs to support himself as he lowered his face to her cunt.

Her arousal had cooled a little while they were fumbling with arranging themselves, but feeling his hot breath on her thighs fanned it back to full flame. She wriggled, spreading her legs as wide as she could for him, and felt the remnants of his seed trickle out of her. It dawned on her— perhaps a bit late— that he would be licking his own come out of her, and the thought made her wind her legs around his shoulders more tightly still. He laughed at her eagerness, exhaled breath warm on her skin, and then he spread her wide with his free hand and set to work with his tongue.

He started small, working around the edges of her slit, long slow strokes with his tongue, occasionally flicking up to tease at her clit— just enough to be infuriating, never enough to be satisfying. Up and down, back and forth, tracing circles around her bud but barely touching it— she groaned, stifling herself with her hand, unable to stop her hips from jerking up, and he dipped lower, darting inside of her with his tongue, nose pressed against her clit. She pushed herself forward, craving more stimulation, and he let her, knowing that she was at his mercy.

She was panting when he worked his way back to her clit, near to begging, one hand gripping the couchback and the other twisted into the cushion. He paused, letting her gasp desperately, and started in on her clit, licking and sucking, lathing over it with his tongue, relentless. She half-sobbed, feeling the stillness just before the shuddering climax, and then he rolled his tongue around her clit and she was finished, legs clamped tightly around his head.

They remained like that for a long moment, his head resting against her thigh as she drew in ragged breaths and tried to master herself. She closed her eyes—  _just a moment, just until I can think straight again_ — and let herself rest on the couch.  _Just for a moment. I’ll get up in just a moment._

She was half-aware of being lifted up, carried, and set down somewhere softer than the couch, but most of her focus was on the warm, sweet aftershocks between her legs. She was vaguely aware of his warm body sliding up beside her, and she scooted back to fit her back against him.

_I never did get my shirt off,_ she thought, half-drowsing, and didn’t care at all.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing i've written in 3 years (more or less). i'm going to hell. but i apologize? i apologize. for so many things.


End file.
